


it's very clear (five times someone noticed)

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, everybody finds out, team pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1313890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Fitz is the first one to have his suspicions and that's surprising. Isn't it?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's very clear (five times someone noticed)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before watching 1x15 "Yes Men" so the characterization doesn't take into account that last minute reveal.

 

**1\. empirical and measurable evidence**

Fitz is the first one to have his suspicions, and that is a surprise, isn't it?

He doesn't remember exactly why Skye and Agent Coulson are in the lab with him on this particular morning. It's a slow day, they are basically hanging out while Fitz finishes some excruciatingly mind-numbing work, both sitting by his desk while he paces between microscope and computer. He is in the midst of telling them the story about Simmons in a bunny suit, hoping it lands a better audience than when he tried it in South Ossetia.

"I heard this one from Simmons," Skye interrupts him. "Is this the one where she sneezes?"

"She sneezed? Over the Faraday cup?" Coulson asks, very into the story.

"Yes! Exactly, sir," Fitz rushes, ecstatic the man, unlike Ward, _understands_ why the story is so funny.

When he finishes telling it Coulson laughs. That's a sound you don't hear often. It's not a chuckle and it's not his usual amused smirk. It's actual, human-shaped laughter. Fitz didn't know he was biologically capable of it. Had even discussed it with Simmons, drawn some charts for her.

"Okay," Coulson says, standing up, deciding that's enough hanging-out-with-subordinates for the day. "Try not to get too much work done down here."

He walks out of the lab and Fitz is still delighted with his boss' sudden and inexplicable good mood. He turns to Skye to share in the revelation.

"Wow. Now _that_ 's surprising."

"What?" Skye asks, herself half-chuckling in the direction Coulson has left.

"Agent Coulson. I didn't know he could smile with, like, his whole mouth and teeth. I didn't even know he had teeth, what happened here. He must be having an incredibly good day."

She turns to look at Fitz, brow furrowed like he had just said such a dumb, dumb thing, poor, dumb Fitz.

"What are you talking about? Coulson smiles like that. _All the time_."

"Okay," Fitz says, because you can't argue with someone who's obviously unbalanced. That or she must know another Agent Coulson then, a completely different one.

Then afterwards, hours later and alone in the lab, Fitz thinks back on the conversation. He thinks about it a lot. Something feels off and then suddenly and irrefutably he knows, _oooooh okay_. Skye must know a different Agent Coulson, that's the thing.

He's a scientist, he's good at analyzing data. This is what he does, observe the phenomena and draw conclusions. Science is observation, and he has been watching Skye since the beginning. Not watching in a creepy, stalker way, no; it's just that Skye has always been very, um, Skye, pretty and bold and with that hair. Fitz is mostly over it and now he's relieved it never went beyond an innocent crush – if his calculations are right (and they always are) Skye has been unattainable for quite some time, in some capacity or other.

Fitz had imagined he would be more affronted by the revelation. There's none of the sense of betrayal, only the bare minimum of jealousy – it's more like he is aware he's stumbled upon something he can't quite comprehend, even if he can set it down in numbers and figures, something he has no right speculating about. Something better left undisturbed for the moment.

He keeps his findings to himself, doesn't tell anyone –not even Simmons– what he has discovered. That's also suprising.

 

 

 

 

**2\. the process**

She's known him for a long time. If anyone is going to notice of course it's going to be her.

They have been through a lot – good times, bad times, horrible times. Some of those happening all at once. Melinda May feels she has the right to a knowledge of Phil Coulson nobody else does. Like, she has the right to _call it_ when she notices him in the first stages of getting involved with someone.

He has these quirks and habits. There are obvious signs. And she's witnessed the process a couple of times in the past, but she admits this is a more intense version of it, by all standards. She wonders if it's the circumstances, or the girl. She wonders if it's because the afterlife version of Phil Coulson takes things to heart a lot more than he used to. She suspects he'd think that's a good way of putting it.

There wasn't a precise moment of "oh, okay" where May knew without a doubt. One day the knowledge was just there, so obvious, so in plain sight. The knowledge was just there, pressing itself against the thin veneer of Coulson's everyday behavior, making May pay attention to some decisive details, almost amused.

Perhaps it's the fact that he never stops talking about the girl, whether he is _actually_ talking about her with words or whether it's by omission. And May likes Skye, has come to love her against her better judgement and against the circumstances, but even so there comes a time when she wishes Coulson would just shut up, or if not shut up at least she wishes he would stop actively thinking about the girl, with his face and everything. May would never tell him this (well, maybe she would, one day) but he has begun to look like a foolish old man.

Listen, she is not even going to question his choice, unwise as it might seem from the outside (she knows it's not). After everything Coulson has done for her the least May can do is trust his judgement – even if such judgement appears to be impaired by... well, she doesn't know, exactly, _what_ , but she knows it's not thoughtless or shallow. It's probably not fleeting, either, considering it's been going on, in some form or another, for many months.

Maybe she just would have never called it, what with Skye not being the type he's gone for in any previous incarnation of the Process (May was there when he dated the realtor from Washington, the sous-chef from San Francisco, the journalist from Bridgeport – she wasn't there for the musician, but she can imagine she somehow fitted the pattern) and Coulson never struck her as that kind of man, yet she's going to trust him on this.

But yes, the not-shutting-up-about-her is number one on the list. Then there's the fact that he is an emotional mess about everything concerning Skye. That started happening soon. May remembers the whole Miles Lydon debacle and in restrospect it's clear what was going on there. Perhaps there's a reason why Coulson is so set against co-workers getting involved, perhaps it's just he's very bad at it, _personally_.

And when your entire emotional state depends on the emotional state of another person, you know you are a goner. May ticks that box, ticks it twice, because the girl is just the same, infuriatingly so – sometimes May can't tell who started the day in a foul/sad/troubled mood and who just followed. It's an endless loop.

There's the subtle, almost undetectable, changes in the color patterns of his well-tailored suits. And the ties. He always does that. There hasn't been a romance in Coulson's life that didn't warrant a slight change of wardrobe.

There's the ridiculous smiles, which seal the deal for May.

The thing he does when the girl walks out of a room and his face is just _stuck_ , the silly smile lingering much longer than is fit for a man of his supposed dignity and poise. May's eyes hurt from rolling them so often at that particular habit, but somehow Coulson doesn't ever notice.

She's kept her silence for a long time, but she has to tease him at some point. Phil is terribly teasable.

She just needs to bring it to his attention once, that please-the-girl-has-already-left-the-room absent look on his face.

"You're doing it again."

"What am I doing again?"

She rolls her eyes.

"Don't you think it's kind of ironic?" she asks. After the mild slack he gave her and Ward, she also believes some friendly retaliation is in order.

"What are you talking about?"

She studies his face. He really has no idea. Weird. May figured by now he'd be on stage six of the process, where he is taking the woman to all the secret dining haunts only embarrassing food geeks like Coulson know about. But no, apparently, she's been wrong.

So he doesn't know.

That is sort of new: the Process has never included Coulson being unaware of it himself. Phil likes being the one in control when it comes to these things. He likes to be the one calling the shots, always with a clear idea of the destination. She's not sure how this one snuck up on him. Except that Skye has a tendency to do that to people, May herself knows it well.

May is going to enjoy this. She is going to enjoy it a little too much.

"What?" he asks again.

She smirks. For once she's ahead of him.

" _Nothing_ ," she says, pointedly. It is a very pointed, very meaningful nothing indeed.

She looks at him, and she decides to be magnanimous about it. He'll get there on his own. Coulson's softer than he used to. And getting softer every day. She might have learned it the hard way but May has learned that's not a bad thing.

The girl might not be a bad thing either.

 

 

 

 

**3\. rules & regulations**

Skye doesn't like firearms training. What she likes even less than that is clean-your-own-gun training. Ward kind of enjoys watching her frustration.

"Why do I have to do this every time? I don't use these weapons, none of us do. We always use the Night-Night Gun, and FitzSimmons take care of cleaning that."

Ward huffs, placing the gun back in her hands.

"It's always useful to know how to dismantle a variety of guns. And you could use the discipline," he teases.

They work in silence for a while. They have a good routine here, once she settles down and gets to it. He knows Skye might kick and protest but she always puts in the work. Ward finds this type of exercise soothing and Skye seems kind of restless of late, not worryingly so, just a bit off. He hopes he can help out a bit there: emptying his head and working with his hands has always calmed him whenever he needed the distraction.

It's nice, until some time later Ward looks up and notices Skye making a weird face.

"What?"

She purses his lips, looking like she is trying to decide whether to speak or not. She decides she will, because, well, when has Skye ever shut up about anything.

"So about you and Agent May... what's dating a co-worker like?" she asks, and it feels somehow out of the blue to Ward, if he hadn't just witnessed Skye's thought process.

"Skye."

"No, tell me, I want to know. Aren't S.O.s supposed to educate their underlings in a variety of subjects?"

May and him have had their ups and downs (more downs than ups, but who's counting) and it has taken them the better part of the year to figure out a way to come back to each other. But now they are in a place, while not ideal (May still has her own set of issues) where they can be honest about it to the rest of the team.

"Are you okay with that? With May and me."

"Sure. You are both... swell people? And Agent May could use someone on her corner. Why wouldn't I be okay with it?" She sounds genuine, not like she is trying to make this easier for him.

"I don't know. You could think it might endanger our missions."

Skye shakes her head.

"No, you're both professionals, I trust your judgement," she says. And then she makes a face Ward truly has never seen. Not a weird face like before, just something _new_. "But, hey listen. Aren't there, like _rules_ about this, regulations and all that?"

"It technically goes against protocol. But we have some leeway because there's no risk of anyone taking advantage in our situation, there's no power imbalance. May and I are on a level. I don't take orders from her and she doesn't take orders from me. It would be different if, for example, Agent Coulson and May were dating, or you and me."

"Yeah, or if me and Coulson were ever to date," she says with a loud snort.

"What?"

"What?"

Ward studies her face. Oh. Okay. So that's how it is.

"Yes," he replies dryly, "that would be bad, too."

"Rules," she repeats, frowning. "I was just curious about how you were hanging in there."

" _I'm_ fine."

"Good. Good."

Skye looks away, a little too quickly. She goes back to the task at hand dilligently, which obviously means she's hiding something. He's not sure _exactly_ what, but the educated guess is alarming enough.

Somehow Ward can't unsee it. Or rather, he can't unhear it. Coulson is never ever going to hear the end of it. _Alaska_. Ward is going to threaten him with Alaska.

 

 

 

 

**4\. bedside manner**

When Simmons comes back to his hospital room in the morning Agent Coulson is already awake.

(Skye isn't, and Simmons wonders if that's going to be a problem, or at least an embarrassment for, uh, someone; she should have never let her stay the night, Coulson is probably going to yell at them both)

"Oh, you are awake," she says. "Good."

He sits up in bed, slowly, as if trying out his limbs in case of unexpected, sudden pain. He looks good, though, has some color in him again, and he looks rested. He must have slept soundly all through the night. She's relieved; even though the whole team knew it was going to be okay that doesn't mean they weren't scared anyway, doesn't mean it wasn't disturbing in extreme, seeing their boss get hurt like that.

Simmons checks the vitals, orders him to try and draw a deep breath.

It's not that she enjoys the fact that Agent Coulson got shot, but there's a certain thrill in being able to order your boss around like this, and Simmons is not above that thrill, no, sir.

"Am I okay?" he asks her.

"Yes. Shoulder injuries are what you hope for in a firefight, medically speaking. You'll be up in no time. Probably we can get you out of here by this afternoon."

He touches the spot where the bullet hit him, winces at the contact.

That's when he notices that Skye is in the room as well. She's asleep, deeply asleep, slouched on a chair next to Coulson, with half her body resting on the bed itself, head cradled on top of her crossed arms. Coulson gives Simmons an amused look, appraising the situation.

Simmons wonders, briefly, if she should have woken Skye earlier, she might have wanted to be awake for this. But she herself had no idea when Agent Coulson was going to regain consciousness. Luckily Coulson doesn't look like he's annoyed. Maybe he won't yell at them.

"Technically she shouldn't be in here. I'm sorry, sir, I should have made her leave," Simmons explains. "But try telling that to Skye."

Coulson nods. "Don't worry, Jemma, no one would hold you responsible for this."

She likes when Coulson uses her first name. Even after all this time, after following the man's orders for well over a year (and she hasn't always agreed with such orders, but they've always patched it up somehow), she still likes it when he calls her _Jemma_ , it makes her feel pampered and appreciated.

"Thank you. She was most insistent in remaining here."

They share an amused glance over Skye's impenetrable slumber.

"She just doesn't wake up," he says humorously, seeing as Skye just keeps on sleeping through their (not so low-voiced) conversation.

"Well, she did spend the whole night in that chair," Simmons points out. "Plus she was also in the mission. Exhaustion has finally caught up with her."

Coulson's expression darkens. "No one else got hurt? The last few moments of the mission are a bit blurry."

"No one got hurt, sir. The team wrapped it up admirably."

His whole countenance relaxes, he flashes her a grateful, somewhat proud smile.

He turns and fixes his glance on the sleeping Skye. He makes a face Simmons has never seen him make before. It's kind of disconcerting.

Then Simmons watches as her boss tangles a gentle hand in Skye's hair, fingertips across her forehead, stroking her temple, then her cheek, her neck. It's very sweet yet very deliberate. _Oh_ , okay then, Simmons thinks. The way he's looking at her sleeping form leaves little room for doubt.

She admits to some degree of surprise. She suspected it from Skye, had seen plenty of evidence in that regard (if nothing else the sight of Skye's face last night when Coulson got shot was definitely _interesting_ if not downright revealing, and that wasn't even the first time). Simmons had absolutely no idea Agent Coulson also felt this way.

Skye stirs where she is, making waking-up noises. She risks opening one eye.

"Hey," she says when she sees Coulson looking at her.

"Hey."

She lifts her head from the bed. "Sorry. I kinda fell asleep on you."

Coulson grins, throwing a conspirational look in Simmons' direction. "We saw."

"Hi, Simmons."

"Good morning to you, too, Skye."

Skye sits up, but only just a bit, her arms peacefully remaining on the bed.

She fixes her gaze on Simmons, her eyes already clear, sleep draining out of her and being replaced by many other things, like worry. "Is he okay?"

"Yes, he's in excellent condition. Vitals are already stable. The muscle tear will heal in no time. It was all just a bit of old fashioned blood loss."

In fact it's Skye who looks worse here; it's obvious she didn't sleep at all during the night. She looks drained and sore. Simmons hates to admit it, but her friend has looked definitely prettier than this.

Skye turns to Coulson, brow furrowed with being _deadly serious_ , it's a bit scary. "Don't ever do that again. If Ward tells you to duck, you duck. Or next time I'll shoot you myself."

He gives her a kind smile. His fingers are still entwined in her hair, his hand has been resting there this whole time. Skye doesn't seem to mind one bit. And neither of them seem to care Simmons is still in the room, they act like she's just vanished. Simmons pretends she's busy checking the iv drip, just doing her work, not intruding, definitely not watching them from the corner of her eye.

"I meant to duck," Coulson says in a resigned tone. "I must be getting old."

Skye catches the hand that's stroking her hair, curls her fingers around Coulson's.

"Good try," she says, giving his hand a squeeze. "But I'm super-stubborn."

The sides of Coulson's mouth stretch into a fond grin. He arches one eyebrow. "I _know_."

Simmons feels her cheeks flush, looks away quickly. Not that she had been looking, no.

Well, she guesses that settles that. If she didn't know before (and she kind of did), she definitely knows now.

 

 

 

 

**5\. appropriate party behavior**

Maria Hill doesn't like it when she has to play the responsible adult on New Year's Eve parties at HQ. It doesn't do anything for her image of killjoy, which by the way is totally unjustified if you ask her. She likes having fun. Just not at the expense of the correct behaviour SHIELD's second in command should display. At least this year with Director Fury's absence things are a bit more on the lowkey – so that your usual Christmas party chaos doesn't decend into decadent debauchery. Fury somehow regresses to the 1960s in these occassions, instructing new recruits in the fine art of cocktail mixing. Even with all the crap Fury has pulled the last couple of years Maria Hill has remained loyal but she swears that if she has to suffer through another _Mad Men_ -themed party she's going to revolt and take control of the whole organization.

So far this year (and she doesn't want to imply it's because of her presence as glorified hall monitor and absolute overseer of it all) it's been pretty tame. It doesn't hurt that Barton and Romanoff are out on a mission as well. She doesn't want a repeat of Christmas '09 – SHIELD's insurance is not _that good_. Rogers promised he'd try to swing by before midnight but now there's a person who knows how to behave in social situations. The most trouble she's expecting this year is in the form of Agent Hand's and Agent Blake's historic rivalry, but that usually subdues with the proper amount of brandy. Bureaucrats really are the worst drinkers, Maria ponders, glad she's a healthy Operations girl.

What she was not expecting, not in a million years, was Coulson's disappointing behavior.

His minions (most of them) have been adequately starry-eyed and reverential upon entering the (party-decorated and filled with high level operatives) headquarters. Fitz and Simmons, though already quite drunk, are giving an improptu conference to the science division on the merits of incapacitating weaponry versus deathly guns. She's pretty sure she's even seen Agent May smile once or twice (which, okay, Maria is visibly emotionally affected by that, they've all missed the old May around here). Ward is being Ward, which in her opinion never hurt anyone.

Okay, she knows people at Christmas parties make horrible decisions, and they get drunk and they get stupid, but Coulson has been like a symbol of good conduct throughout history. Maria has spent most of her career admiring the man, even when she started getting promoted well over him – she considered him an example. A shining example.

She thought the usual New Year's Eve intemperance did not apply to Coulson. Specially not with _such_ a choice of partner. That's another disappointment to her. She doesn't want to be mean but. She didn't think he was that kind of man – maybe every man is that kind of man (okay, except Rogers, she can't wait for Rogers to arrive and restore her faith in the opposite sex).

When she sees Coulson walk back into the control room Maria makes a beeline for him as he tries to reach the bar.

"Hi there, _Phil_."

"Um, okay, hello."

He looks flustered. Well, he would, wouldn't he. Maria would find it funny if she didn't so thoroughly disapprove of the whole thing.

"What an interesting party. Is it not?"

"Sure. I miss the Cold War theme from last year, though."

"You would."

He doesn't look drunk exactly, just slightly tipsy – although she doesn't know if that's from drinking or from... his inappropriate party behavior behind the service stairwell.

"And you? Are you having fun, Maria?"

She crosses her arms in front of her chest; a gesture historically garanteed to inspire fear in the hearts of men and women.

"I have to admit: I'm a little disappointed in you, Coulson. I thought you had more sense."

"More sense than what?"

"You know."

"No?"

"There are security cameras everywhere in the building, you know. Including the service hallway."

It takes him a beat to get it.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he says sheepishly. Does he really have the audacity to be half-grinning about this?

"Seriously," she says, lowering her voice, because _seriously_. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know you've had a complicated year and a half. You've been through so much. But this is unlike you."

"What _exactly_ is unlike me?" he crosses his arms and Maria can tell the mood is shifting a bit, like he's suddenly the one who's been insulted. She doesn't get it.

"What are you doing? I've never known you to fool around like this."

"I'm not fooling around. Why would you assume I was fooling around?"

He no longer looks tipsy. He looks clear-eyed and in control of his faculties. He looks pissed off. Maria has seen that look a handful of times. She didn't expect him to react like this – she expected Coulson to be embarrassed, mortified, apologetic. He's the one in the wrong here, not her. It's not like she's belittling something that he... because that _can't be_. Can it?

"Come on, Coulson. It's me. What else can it be?"

He gives her a hard, sobered-up look. This one Maria hasn't seen before. _What the–?_

And as if on cue the girl in question, the Consultant, arrives at their side, here she comes in a giddy hurry, almost skipping. There's pink in her cheeks and Maria thinks these two both deserve to be subjected to a long eye-rolling session.

"This is an _amazing_ party," she says, vocalizing each word like each word is just as amazing as the party.

Maria gives the girl a look.

"Skye," Coulson says. "This is Commander Maria Hill."

"Wow, an honor. Heard a lot about you. All good, don't worry."

She offers her hand and Maria takes a moment before she shakes it. The girl seems unfazed by the underlying hostility. Then again Maria imagines she has other things in her mind.

"Hey," the girls says to her. "I have a great idea for next year's party. I'm great at these things."

"I don't think that's–"

"A costume party!" She waits for a reaction. A long time. "That's it, that's my whole pitch."

Both Maria and Coulson glare at her.

The glaring doesn't stop as Maria tells her: "I think this kind of parties tend to get out of hand as it is, without the extra help of disguises."

"Right. Well, it was just an idea." She's flushed with embarrassment.

She turns around to see if she finds someone friendly in the vicinity.

Coulson smiles brightly at her.

"And which costume would you be wearing?" he asks her.

The girl lights up, quirking an amused eyebrow at him. "Well, if you asked nicely, I'd come as Captain America, of course."

She has this dreamy expression when she says it, swaying her body ever so slightly so that a lesser agent than Commander Hill wouldn't notice the split-of-second her arm brushes Coulson's. But it's Coulson's expression the one Maria finds most interesting. She catches the way he looks at the girl. And _oh_ , okay, she gets it, nevermind.

She smiles warmly at Skye. "We'll take your idea into consideration."

And maybe she will. She's not a killjoy after all, don't listen to the rumors. And maybe Coulson would appreciate a costume party indeed.

Maria Hill is a big enough person to admit when she's wrong.

 _Good for you, Phil_.


End file.
